Gemotions

The sunlight filtering through the kitchen window painted stripes across David’s face as he sat at the table, nursing a lukewarm coffee. A sharp rap on the door ripped him from his morning haze. It was Ms. Eleanor, the woman who lived next door.

He opened the door and the words formed on his lips were lost. The woman’s usually severe face seemed softened, almost apologetic. She held a gardening catalog, its glossy pages reflecting the sunlight.

“David, dear,” she began, her voice unusually hesitant. “That dreadful old maple...it casts such a shadow, doesn't it?” She touched the corner of her lips with her forefinger. The request felt like a misplaced puzzle piece.

He just stared at her, the caffeine doing nothing to dispel the fog that had suddenly descended upon his mind. He glanced at the tree. It was a beautiful tree. He was so...confused.